


Paranoia (isn't always in your head)

by AngeNoir



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: 3 + 1 fic, Ambiguity, Fics for Pics, M/M, Omens & Portents, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3153797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bird is following him.</p><p><em>Yes</em>, he knows how that sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paranoia (isn't always in your head)

**Author's Note:**

> Written based on this [pic](https://www.flickr.com/photos/crosslens/15569487011/in/photostream/lightbox/), which was assigned to me from the pic1000 challenge.

“I think that black bird is following me.”

Yes, Jensen knew how weird it sounded, but really.

“Is the job done, Jensen?” Clay growled.

 “Yeah, yeah,” Jensen muttered, trying to ignore the crow that perched on the roof he could see out the office window.

Or was it a raven?

 

* * *

 

“I swear man, doesn’t that bird look familiar?”

“It’s a bird. You think the Pooch is gonna remember every bird he ever saw ?”

Jensen gnawed on his lip as he tapped at his laptop, warily eyeing the bird perched on the roof of the car across the street from where he and Pooch were running surveillance while finishing up their research on the target. That fucking crow, or raven, or grackle, or whatever the hell it—

“Jensen!”

“What?!” he snapped, jerking his gaze away from the window to see Pooch glaring at him.

“Get your head in the game, man! I don’t want to be in this smelly-ass apartment any longer than I have to be!”

Jensen sighed, and glanced out the window. The black bird was gone from the roof of the car, and he didn’t know what else to do.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s… let’s get that done,” Jensen muttered under his breath.

 

* * *

 

“Does that bird look suspicious to you?”

“What?” Roque slurred.

Jensen leaned a little more heavily on Roque and squinted through blurry vision. “That – that bird, does that bird look suspicious to you?”

“Jensen, what the hell kinda question is that?”

The bartender came over but Jensen wasn’t really paying attention. He was sure Pooch was doing something to fix whatever it was the bartender wanted fixed, but he was busy staring at the black bird painted on the wall across from him. “Damn bird always following me,” he grumbled.

Then Pooch was rousting them up, pushing them towards the door, and Jensen grumbled and stumbled his way out into the dark night. Overhead, he could hear caws, and he stopped, frowning up at the sky.

“You gotta piss?” Roque asked, and Jensen didn’t know how to answer except to point up.

“What?” Roque asked as Pooch complained about having to drag their asses back to base.

Jensen shrugged helplessly. “Can’t you hear them?”

“What? Birds?” Roque asked, voice skeptical.

Jensen made an exaggerated motion (only slightly exaggerated; he was at that stage of drunkenness where he tried to control his movements and failed utterly). “It’s dark. Why are birds out and awake now?”

“Because they’re shit-stupid, that’s why,” Roque grunted, then listed to one side a moment before correcting himself. “You’re not making sense, Jensen.”

“ _You’re_ not making sense,” Jensen muttered back as Pooch drove a car up to them and gestured impatiently for them to get in.

Roque climbed into the backseat, cursing under his breath, but Jensen paused in his movements, staring out across the deserted parking lot where a lone black bird sat halfway in shadow, halfway in the dim streetlight’s spotlight.

“I swear it’s following me,” Jensen repeated, which was when Roque leveled a few choice curses Jensen’s way and Pooch snapped at him to get in the car or walk back to base.

Jensen felt uneasy, but turned his back on the bird anyway.

 

* * *

 

Jensen nearly came to a dead stop when he rounded a corner and saw the black bird perched on the electric fence he was about to scale as quickly as possible with the intel he was carrying. As it was, he stumbled and nearly went down, and bullet shots behind him reminded him why stopping was not a good idea.

“Jensen, what the hell is your problem?” Clay shouted over the comms, and Jensen gritted his teeth before placing his rubber-soled boots and rubber-gloved hands on the fence and began to climb.

The bird cocked its head at him, a greedy look in those soulless eyes, and Jensen fought not to shiver as he made his way to the top of the fence.

The black bird (raven, Jensen thought) squawked, loud and clear for anyone to hear, and then spread its wings and flapped up to a power line. Jensen vaulted himself as quickly as he could over the fence and began running.

A bullet clipped his shoulder and he hissed, stumbling. There was a sharp rifle retort, and then a soft, “Taken care of,” echoed across the comms.

“Thanks Cougs,” Jensen grunted.

A large caw interrupted him and he cursed. “You can see this fucking bird, can’t you, Cougs?”

“Would you _shut up_ about that bird?!” Roque snarled. “Keep on fucking point so we get the hell out of here!”

“Wasn’t talking to you, Roque,” Jensen snapped.

Jensen rounded a corner, running quickly and trying to ignore the ache in his shoulder, and ended up coming face to face with more gun runners.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hissed, turning on his heel and dashing around the corner.

Two more rifle cracks, and then Cougar’s soft voice whispering, “Si, I see it.”

“See what? What’s wrong?” Clay said immediately.

The bird called out again, and a soft Spanish curse sounded before there was silence.

“Cougs?” Jensen said, heart in his throat, and as he headed for the alternate escape route, he dodged into a doorway and made his way up the stairs. “Second rendezvous point, Pooch – Cougar, Cougar, are you okay?”

Bursting onto the roof, Jensen stopped dead, staring at the barrel of the gun leveled at him. Behind the man’s head, that thrice-damned bird perched, beady eyes fixed on him.

“Well. Shit,” he sighed.

A gunshot—

—and the man fell.

Jensen let out a deep sigh. “Thanks, Cougar,” he said.

Three rooftops away – _definitely_ not where Cougar was supposed to be – Cougar touched the brim of his hat. “De nada.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, slotted side by side, Cougar stroked the nape of Jensen’s neck, cradling Jensen’s head against his chest. “Always, _mi amado_. Always, I will be there.”

“That fucking bird,” Jensen grumbled.

Cougar chuckled a little, kissing Jensen’s forehead. “Yes, to save you from birds, too.”


End file.
